“Never has man been so thoroughly disciplined, my dear Victor, or so free to develop his faculties to the utmost, as since he voluntarily gave up the attempt to dominate his fellows.”
“All the positivists, past and present, have preached that felonious doctrine,” said Victor, shrugging his shoulders. “Even your great Herbert Spencer—who was what one may call a pessimistic reformer—owned that before man could realise a perfect state of freedom, he would have to master the passions which give a bias to all his actions, and render him powerless to create a social Utopia. May this blissful state of things continue, and may the Seer find your hearts as pure as newborn babes when he turns his searchlight on to you.”
“There is no fear of that, dear Victor; London has been going through mental gymnastics for a few weeks, and you could not find one creature that did not harbour the purest intentions. Even that uninteresting couple, the Mowbrays, have not in their whole composition a grain of malice, although they started late in their career of reform.”
The Palace of Happiness opened next day, on what Londoners were formerly wont to call Goodwood Day. Thousands and thousands marching in perfect order entered the hall, and seated themselves on the benches which had been erected one above the other and reached right up to the gallery. At one end of the hall, on a marble platform raised three feet from the ground, Lionel and Gwen, Sinclair and Eva, with many others who formed part of the committee, were reclining on couches. Victor de Laumel sat discreetly behind the Somervilles, for they had hinted to their Parisian friend that his presence might attract the attention of the public and put it out of humour against the whole performance. Lionel kept saying that until this ceremony was over they were not out of the wood, and could not say positively that John Bull had been won over.
Notwithstanding the size and height of the hall, the scent of flowers was intoxicating, as masses of cut roses, jasmine and carnations were strewed over the platform and the seats, whilst huge garlands of tropical flowers hung in festoons along the upper gallery.
At the other end of the edifice, opposite the platform, an enormous arch had been constructed as an entrance to the hall, through which the crowd could watch the slow progress of the procession in the distance, as it came up the broad avenue bordered with exotic plants. From where they were seated in the hall, it was difficult to distinguish the exact details of that triumphal procession, but they could discern in the sunshine a dazzling object carried in state by several male figures. This was the casket, or, as it was more appropriately called, the Reliquary, which contained the instrument designed by the Seer to bring universal happiness. The bearers of this heavy burden were numerous, for the Reliquary was large and weighty, and strong muscles were needed to lift up and down this solid mass of gold. Not only had the great of the land volunteered to fulfil the humble duties of bearers in this unparalleled pageant, but men who held exalted positions at Court had of one accord given up their coronets and decorations, their military orders and medals, in order that these might be melted down and recast into this magnificent casket. Likewise had Royal Princesses, and the flower of feminine aristocracy, unhesitatingly handed over to the Seer all their tiaras, necklaces and costly jewels, to ornament the outside of this precious receptacle. It was an impressive sight, and one which no living man could compare with any past pageant in history, to see these men, who three months ago had firmly believed in the power of wealth and position, standing now shoulder to shoulder divested of their worldly masks and leading the way to the happy goal. Perhaps also their hearts throbbed with pride as they thought of the private ceremony which was to follow this public function: a special train was to carry the Reliquary and the bearers to Dover, where, from the pier, they would hurl the symbol of all past vanities into the Channel. They thirsted for this last act of self-abnegation, and moreover they felt that it would be a salutary hint to the nation over the way.
The clock struck twelve, and as the last stroke vibrated through the clear atmosphere, the head of the procession passed through the porch.
Mrs David Pottinger, holding the hand of the American Seer, entered first; behind her came the twenty bearers carrying the Reliquary. The public stared in amazement at its size—twelve feet long and eight feet wide—and they were dazzled by the beauty of the mass of solid gold all inlaid with precious stones. As the bearers slowly advanced into the middle of the hall, the whole assembly rose, and many were moved to tears as they read on the top of the casket the magic word, Happiness, spelt in diamonds, rubies and sapphires. Not one word, not one clap of hands were heard to disturb the sanctity of the ceremony. Immediately behind the Reliquary came the American colony, walking three abreast. They were all there, proud of their kinsman, to whom the world in future would owe an eternal debt of gratitude, and they were honoured at being allowed to be of use to dear old England, whose hospitality they so thoroughly appreciated. Behind these marched the Music Hall Artists, men and women; and at their approach a thrill ran through the audience. They fluttered with wild excitement at the sight of these dapper men and spruce little women, who seemed to bring with them an element of good-natured fun, and to whom England owed, in a sense, its salvation. What the audience felt was similar to that which they formerly experienced in the days when the Horse Guards used to appear on the scene, to announce the approach of a Royal carriage. Still, no words rose to their lips; their gratitude for these wise jesters was too deeply rooted in their hearts to find expression in vulgar applause. Their eyes lingered in rapture on the ranks of the satirists whose action had, at a critical moment, pulled Society together, and taught its members how to observe and how to remember.
From these the audience looked up at the twenty bearers, and marvelled at their transformation, recognising in one a Royal Highness, in others a Prime Minister, a Field-Marshal, an Archbishop, a South African millionaire and various Members of Parliament.